“Yes. Really, Cletus,” I said on a rush, then lowered my voice to a whisper. “I don’t have a bra on under this apron.”
“I know.” He shrugged, his eyes skimming down, then up. Undaunted, he took a step forward.
My mouth fell open and I stared at him, frustration and embarrassment warring for control. Recognizing that Cletus had no plans to turn around or avert his eyes, I jogged past him to the back door. I felt his gaze on my backside as I slipped on my big coat and pulled it closed, holding the edges together.
When I turned I found him frowning. “You didn’t have to do that.”
A sound of disbelief tumbled from my lips.
“Yes. I really did.”
He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Suit yourself. No pun intended.”
My eyes flickered over him and I felt my cheeks heat, feeling the need to explain why I’d been baking half naked. “I sometimes take off the dress when I bake late at night, especially if it has a built-in corset. It hurts my ribs.”
“Makes sense.” He nodded once, twisting his lips to the side again. He was doing a bad job of fighting a grin, and the way his hooded eyes moved over my form made me feel warm and flustered.
My throat worked and my neck was burning hot as I searched his eyes. “I suppose you have lots of experience, with half-dressed women. It’s probably no big deal to you.”
“A half-dressed woman is always a big deal.” A smile lingered behind his eyes, it felt dark and delightfully wicked.
“Even at the Pink Pony?” I asked out of nowhere, surprising myself with the non sequitur.
I didn’t know what made me ask other than the fact that Beau and the owner of the Pink Pony were good friends; everyone was aware Cletus went fishing with them from time to time. I’d been having all kinds of crazy thoughts since seeing him last, usually involving best-and worst-case scenarios.
Or best worst-case scenarios, like—if Cletus went to the strip club—best-case was that he did so blindfolded and against his will. See? Crazy.
Cletus made a face. “I don’t much like those kinds of places.”
“Why? Don’t all men like looking at naked ladies?”
His eyes dropped to my coat and they heated. “I like to unwrap my own presents.”
The butterflies ceased flapping their wings and instead stripped naked. I liked that thought. I liked the idea of being unwrapped, like a present. But only if I could unwrap him, too.
“Did you come here to unwrap me?” I asked hopefully, relaxing my hold on the coat.
He smiled, his clever eyes narrowing just a bit. “Are you my present?”
Yes.
My embarrassed blush became something else. Heat still circled my neck, my heart still pounded, but the atmosphere shifted. My hot flash was no longer mortified at having been caught baking half-naked. Our smiles gradually waned as we stared at each other.
He took a step toward me, his eyes dropping to my jacket. Cletus inspected the edges, his expression thoughtful, then slipped his fingers inside the coat. I released my grip on the material as his hands parted the jacket and pushed. It fell to the floor.
“I didn’t come over here for this,” he said distractedly. His eyes studied the front of my apron as he pulled the tie at my back.
Meanwhile, I was a mess. I was a mess of wanting to tear his clothes off, and wanting to kiss his face off, and wanting more of what we’d done three nights ago. I simultaneously had the urge to shove him to the floor and attack him, and stand still to see what he would do next. Ultimately, I decided to stand still. I could always attack him later.
The bow holding the apron around my neck unraveled and the apron joined my coat on the floor, leaving me in just my panties and stockings. He looked at me. He looked at my body like I was his present. Like he had lots of ideas how he would play with me. I wasn’t cold, yet I shivered.
His eyes lifted, hot with intent, and he took a step forward. Instinctively, I took a step back. He gave me a barely there smile and continued to advance until my back met with the counter. Then he stopped.
“My dearest Jennifer,” he grumbly whispered, his fingers looping into the waistband of my underwear, “in case you’re making a list, this is the only thing I want for my birthday.” He lowered as he tugged the lace down my legs. I trembled again as his hands traced a light touch on the backs of my knees and calves.
I stepped out of my panties and watched as he pocketed them. Leaning forward, his eyes on me, he breathed a hot breath against the apex of my thighs.
I swayed, my hands coming to his shoulders for balance, my heart thundering. I was hot and cold all over, the ache of longing sharp and deliciously painful low in my belly. He used the leverage of my hands to cup my bottom, lifting me onto the counter. I sat perched on the edge and he spread my legs, his fingertips tracing my inner thighs until he parted me with his thumbs.